


My Greatest Masterpiece

by BinaBina



Series: And The Beat Thumps On [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Blowjobs, Body Worship, Clothed dom, Established Relationship, Lipstick, M/M, Marking (via cum), Marking (via lipstick), Porn with Feelings, Restraints, almost naked sub, dom!Piers, it's loving raihan hours in this house, sub!raihan, you dont need to have read the previous installment if youre just here for the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BinaBina/pseuds/BinaBina
Summary: Piers had remarked before that Raihan would look great with lipstick marks kissed all over him. Here's him making good on that claim.(Post-HeartBeatDrop)
Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Nezu | Piers
Series: And The Beat Thumps On [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053803
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	My Greatest Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, HeartBeatDrop readers! To those who haven't read the previous installment, you don't have to in order to enjoy. Just know that this is a no-pokemon, "real world" AU where Raihan's a well-known DJ and EDM artist, Piers is an indie singer/songwriter trying to make it big, and they are boyfriends who love each other very much.

Raihan's never been of the kinky sort. Not originally.

Soon after getting together with Piers he learned that his boyfriend is extremely versed in more adventurous ways of having sex, and happily became his star pupil. They started out with simple things, and used them in simple ways, just to get him used to dealing with extra elements during intimacy. Blindfolds were pretty fun, even if it took a while to convince him that _not_ being able to make eye contact could possibly be an improvement. The leather cuffs... Again, how could not being able to touch his boyfriend freely be fun? There was a gag he was proud to be able to name, that he discovered he enjoyed after watching Piers pant and drool and moan around the little red ball while taking his cock.

So yeah. Nothing too wild, just dipping his toes into the water with his hand held by an Olympic swimmer. Piers deserves a gold medal in kinkstery-ness and a second gold medal for being so patient with him.

The results of all the experimenting seemed to be (according to the expert) that Raihan isn't a fan of being restrained from showing love. Raihan loves to give, to spoil and lavish and express his overflowing passion through every possible outlet lest he burst, which kind of puts a lot of Piers' toys outside the realm of usable on him.

He'd apologized several times over, for not 'getting it' like he was supposed to, but Piers didn't let that stand, saying that it was okay, that everyone's geared towards different methods of experiencing or enhancing their pleasure and enjoyment. Not doing well while restrained was completely valid, but Raihan still wanted to try, figure something out, and as long as he's willing to try, Piers sure as hell never runs out of ideas.

Which led them to this.

It was only this morning that, randomly, over cinnamon pancakes and bacon, Piers asked if he'd be interested in trying something again tonight. He agreed before he thought to ask for details, which were given regardless, after an affectionate chuckle at his enthusiasm. A little expedition into the emotional aspect of it, along with another attempt at the physical. Piers explained a lot over breakfast about what to expect, what might happen, and he followed along well enough, ever impressed that so much went into this stuff. The key words he remembers most are _just a simple bind, for show,_ and _kiss and love you all over,_ and _leaving marks._

Not marks of the conventional kind, that Raihan himself enjoys leaving with teeth and suction and rolls of the tongue over captured flesh. Piers has his own brand of staking claim, symbolically signing his name on people, the tools for which are neither teeth nor pen.

Three clacks onto the nightstand. Each is deliberate, the placement of casings aligned in a neat little row that Raihan can view if he pushes his head forward to peer around his own arm. He's currently tied to the bed via soft restraints around his wrists, fastened to the headboard, body bare save for his underwear and the comfortable trapping that is Piers' gaze on him.

Just a simple bind. For show. A reminder more than anything. Tied up not to experience the supposed joys of deprivation, but to lie back, relax, and be spoiled by his favorite person. Not bound to be restrained, but to receive. And that makes all the difference.

"You'll get better acquainted with those soon enough." Bare lips smirk and pull his attention away from the nightstand. "Trust me."

Redundant words coming from the person Raihan trusts with his mind, body, and soul, but the slight sinister twist in his boyfriend's voice tips the message from romantic to sensual, and a prickle dances across his bare skin.

"I'm ready, baby."

"You've been ready all day. "

It's true. He barely got any commission work done today with anticipation rigged through every bone in his body. All he could think about was this latest foray into the thrilling unknown.

Piers' hand drifts away to his peripherals, a show of contemplation on his pretty face.

"What to start with... All three will look lovely on ya, but I think the Punk Couture is a nice opener."

Piers plucks up a casing. The mattress dips under his slight weight as he clambers upon the wide bed and straddles over him. Tight leather pants cling to those narrow thighs, low waistband wrapped snug and taut over the precipice of sharp hips. Raihan wants to sneak his finger into the little air gap between leather and skin, right on the inside of that crest of bony hip, but he can't with his wrists bound.

A bubble of frustration tries to rise. Tries to. He thinks back to previous sessions, what got under his skin, the sense of denial from expressing how much he adores his partner and how distracting it was from having a completely carefree time.

This is different. Similar setup, new approach. Needs a shift in mindset to go along with it.

_Don't think about being held back. Think about what's coming your way, Raihan. Piers wants to spoil you._

A thick _click_ snaps his eyes higher. Raihan's no stranger to makeup; he may not wear lipstick but he instantly recognizes the signature roundness of a MAC brand lipstick casing. Cap and base are held separately, one-handedly, the important portion perched upon small fingertips as if on a pedestal.

"I think you'll remember this color." Piers rolls his finger along the silver band of the tube, and up spins a slanted core of deep, deep purple. Midnight iris. Familiar.

"You wore that to our first real date," he breathes, when recognition lights up his memory.

"Mm. Knew you'd like it back then, and I know you'll like it now."

He did like it back then. Piers was stunning, hair loose in tumbled waves, height boosted by killer heeled boots, sweet smile framed by that very same color as he took Raihan's arm and they made their way to the reservation. It was the first time Piers allowed himself some luxury without putting up a fight, or even a hesitation, and that made his whole night before they even got started. He still has a bottle of the same wine they had at the restaurant, not to drink, just to own, hunted down and purchased as a physical reminder of how magical that evening was.

The other colors on the nightstand, are they just as important?

Piers reaches for a hand mirror, holding it in a way that doesn't obstruct Raihan's view. The tube lifts to his lips, slow and steady like Raihan's gaze is ballast to the act, and presses the color to his skin. Raihan swallows at how those lips—lips whose plushness he's intimately familiar with—are grabbed and dragged along each practiced swipe. Pale pink vanishes under each clingy, greedy smear of dark purple, coated on thick with a steady, expert hand.

Dark colors always looked so good on him.

Piers caps the tube with another sharp click and presses his lips together, rolling them, spreading the dark color evenly until he frees them with the lightest _pop._ By the end of tonight Raihan's positive that lipstick tubes will incite Pavlovian boners on sight.

The items are silently set aside on the expanse of the bed.

"Now, where should I start..." Piers holds his own elbow, a black-painted nail (no chips; Piers dolled himself up extra for this) tapping against a cheek. "I've got such a pretty canvas to work with."

Canvas...?

Heat crawls up his face. Piers wants to make art of him. His favorite artist in the whole wide world, turning that creativity onto _him..._

He shivers.

Piers' eyes drag over him with the deliberation of a true artist, plotting, considering, mapping out the path he'll take across the blank canvas he's about to make beautiful.

If there's one thing he could say about Piers' method of artistry, it would be _thoughtful._ As a lyricist, he'll think a thousand words before carefully marking down the very best one, and when drafting his melodies every note is placed on the staff with the entire composition in mind. One little dot on the bars is the work of years of musical instinct, talent, experience and skill, honed eternally with each careful step forward into the vast, limitless expanse that is making music that's never existed before.

So much work happens behind the scenes of that brilliant, beautiful brain, ideas sifted and re-sifted in the hunt for gold dust amidst the sand. To be the subject under that critical microscope of creativity...

Another shiver ripples beneath his skin, head to toe. He's already hard. Way harder than he should be for someone who hasn't been touched yet. His erection strains against the cloth of his underwear. If only it weren't in the way...

"You're already so perfect, love, but I want to add my personal touch. Leave my mark. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Something tells him he shouldn't speak. There are no rules against it, Piers never told him he should stay quiet through this, but some strange urge to stay quiet and be good, to offer himself to someone ready to indulge in him, make him into whatever they want, settles over his body and soothes away every unsaid word lingering in his throat.

He nods, and Piers smiles, dark lips revealing a hint of teeth.

"Perhaps I should start here..."

Long hair slips over Piers' sharp shoulder as he leans forward, the strands grazing Raihan's stomach. A single cold fingertip taps and presses on his sternum. Pale pressure, but Raihan wouldn't be able to rise if he tried.

"Or lower might be best..."

The freezerburn touch traces down the center of his chest and leaves fire in its chilly wake. Raihan whines as the barest scratch of nail coasts over his abs. Yes, please, lower!

The touch withdraws right before it reaches his waistband, and Piers chuckles. "Patience, love, I'll get there in time. For now, I think I want to take it from the top."

On hands and knees, Piers crawls over him until Raihan's view of the ceiling is eclipsed by a beautiful face and flowing curtains of hair. He tries to lean up from the pillows he's propped up against and doesn't get far, because once again a hand presses against his chest. He goes willingly, but not happily.

Then Piers is cupping his face and leaning down and everything is worth it as he anticipates his love's mouth against his. It never comes. Piers is close, so close, he could lean up and steal his kiss, but he won't. That's not his job right now. His job is to lie back and receive. Piers will give him plenty of love, he's got to keep that in mind. No need to chase what's already coming his way guaranteed.

Raihan manages to relax against the pillows. Satisfaction glows across Piers' face, and his cheekbones are stroked. Did he pass some kind of test? Piers looks proud of him, and that feels... good. Really good.

The kiss that presses over his cheek feels like a reward. The lipstick is thick, tacky, tugging at his skin as Piers subtly nuzzles it home. The barest peek of tongue, wet and slick between the grip of matte purple, grazes his skin, and Piers draws away glacier-slow. His lips peel away and leave behind a tactile shape Raihan can feel without needing to see or touch with his hands.

His face is already warm. They've barely gotten started; he can hardly tell if it's Piers' own skill at playing him like an instrument, or Raihan's ever-present attraction to his disheveled supermodel of a boyfriend that's got him so keyed up already. Probably a mix of both.

Piers strokes his face and openly admires what he left there. "Knew it'd look good on ya. But that's just the first of many to come."

He blushes under the lipstick at the reference. Title of their very first song, and a phrase that's stuck with them throughout the whole of their developing relationship. Piers might have been around the block plenty of times, but so many things were denied him, that Raihan was happy to provide, and continued to give, and still plans on giving and giving for as long as they're together and loving each other. Sunset watchings, cuddles on the couch, baking together and sneaking flour prints onto each other's skin, constant support of each other's projects and creative endeavors in the form of coffee delivered and ears lent to listen to ideas.

Piers passes over his face and his head turns, hoping for that kiss, but is denied once more. Raihan's lips part and he tugs at his restraints, every fiber in his body seeking this vital point of contact. Piers grabs his jaw and he freezes. Gentle pressure guides him to lie back fully against the pillows, and his partner's piercing gaze relaxes him until he's pliant and yielding again.

Rough fingertips glide up his throat, nudge at his chin. A silent request that Raihan obeys. His reward is a croon of approval and a puff of warm air across the side of his neck, a cliffhanger precursor to the next kiss. He sucks in a gasp when it's a small bite instead, and almost whines when Piers chuckles into his neck and draws away.

Another coat of purple is needed, apparently. A fingertip against his forehead keeps his head tipped back and his sights on the ceiling, and it's only through strained peripherals that he gets to watch his beloved smack his freshly painted lips together.

Raihan's hips tilt against the bed and roll against nothing when the next kiss finds his neck, sticky over sensitive skin.

"Mine," Piers purrs, and presses another kiss lower, just below his adam's apple. "My beautiful Raihan..."

A thrill bolts through him and his cock throbs. He's used to being called sexy, hot, handsome... cute, sometimes, from fans who frequent his social media and love his smile. Piers is the only person he knows who'll call him beautiful. It's not derogatory or emasculating, meant to mock or make him feel like less of a man somehow. Piers really sees him as that lovely. Inside and out. After everything.

A clever tongue flicks out and draws a wet line up his neck, teeth grazing against his jaw before another kiss is applied. His earlobe is next, the target of teeth and tongue alone. He's so hard, wishing his beloved would lower those hips and settle in his lap so he can rut against that perfect ass.

Piers pulls away with a swipe of his tongue and takes his jaw again, angling his head this way and that, barely any pressure needed. Inspecting his work so far. Piers' gaze traces over him. Touching upon each kiss individually. Observing him as a whole. He feels oddly valued, like this, and all the more eager to please for it.

"Ain't you pretty... So many people's favorite work of art." The grip on his jaw firms, and Raihan's suddenly trapped within a pale gaze. Soul-searching eyes, always so deep, able to reach as far into people as they show about himself. "Others might fall in love with your surface, but I've looked far deeper, and there's so much more to adore than just your pretty face."

A weak sound leaves his throat and heat washes over him anew. Where did that come from? What's this have to do with kissing him all over?

He's still confused when Piers clambers off entirely.

"I think it's time for the black. Best for bringin' attention to what might be hidden away."

What does that mean? Nothing about his body is hidden, with the exception of the hardness still pressed against his underwear.

The black glides on silky smooth, opaque from the get-go. It's one of Piers' favorite colors, and the one he wears the most often, especially on weekends if they're going out someplace casual, or Piers is in the mood to follow him to one of his gigs and have fun dancing along with everyone else.

This lipstick stays uncapped as Piers lies himself down along Raihan's side, close but not touching, glossy black tube held ready for re-application when needed.

"For example," Piers starts, grazing up his bicep and back down to his shoulder, "these arms of yours... Anyone can tell how strong they are at a glance. But somethin' only I'm privy to, that I learned by gettin' to know ya, is just how gentle they can be. How safe they are to curl up in. How much they help me sleep through the night, just by bein' wrapped up around me."

Oh...

Raihan tears his eyes away, a blurry mix of embarrassment and pride washing over his body and rendering it borderline overheated.

Piers stretches up and presses a sweet kiss over his bicep. This lipstick feels different. Silkier, less friction, transferring with relative ease. He can see the edge of the kiss when Piers retreats to swipe more black on.

Mark of appreciation. Satiny black badge of love and praise, given by someone who cares...

It feels like he's treading water inside himself, with fluffy clouds instead of water. No risk of really drowning. He's here, in his room, on his bed, lover at his side, caressing up and down his chest with the same pendulous touch one might use to play with a stream's surface during a sleepy summer's day.

His shoulder is the next destination. Piers holds and squeezes it, uses his body's solidity as an anchor to pull himself up.

"This here..." whispers inches from his ear. "My favorite place to hide my tears. How many times have you let me cry here? Let me lean on you, while you held me, told me everything would be okay?"

He could answer that if his voice worked, and if he had the mind to speak. Two times it's happened, both before Piers moved in with him. Both stress breakdowns. His chest pangs just remembering.

"When you hold me in those arms and let me take refuge against you, love, it really feels like there's nothin' in this cold hard world that can hurt me."

Piers kisses his shoulder. Twice.

Every subsequent place visited comes with its own reverent message. Sometimes an anecdote, sometimes an observation, always loving and always betraying the adoration Piers holds towards him.

His chest gets one, for being Piers' favorite pillow and housing the heartbeat Piers loves to listen to at night.

His waist, three freshly painted kisses there. A prime spot to wrap skinny arms around, hoping that Raihan feels half as loved as he makes Piers feel whenever they share an embrace.

The whole time, Raihan's face scorches with embarrassment. He wants to pull his arms free and cover his bare body as if would do a single damn thing to obstruct how deeply Piers can peer into him, reach into him, and make himself at home.

Piers presses a wet kiss to his temple and whispers of his intelligence, _most creative person I've ever met, sweetheart, you're brilliant, clashin' heads with you brings out the best in me. Your head may not be fair to you some days but that's what I'm here for, eh? To remind you that I love you for you._

Piers always makes him feel seen on levels deeper than what screens can provide. Raihan's used to showing himself in mirrors, on screens, posters, photographs, all flat and pristine and two-dimensional and here this scrupulous man is, prying into his cracks and breaking through the hard plane of perfection and seeking whatever exists beyond, no matter how messy or ugly it can be, and cupping it all within worn hands to hold close and dear.

He's driven desperate when Piers pushes his legs apart and settles between them, praise falling from wet obsidian lips.

"Think I'll indulge myself in a bit of vanity... We both know your legs are exquisite, why don't I show some more tactile appreciation?"

His aching cock has leaked a wet patch into his underwear, and he clenches his teeth in anticipation when those slender hands run down his thighs and spread them farther apart, putting the heavy bulge front and center. He can't not say something, not when he can see the hunger on his beloved's face. He wants to be devoured, consumed, he wants those painted lips wrapped snug around the base of his cock, swallowing him whole, he wants, he wants, he _wants!_

"Babe, baby, please..." he reedily begs. "Please, 'm so hard... I need you..."

His pleads and whimpers go unheeded. Piers only casts a delicate smirk that might as well be a slap of denial as he settles low, never once touching him where he needs it the most.

Feathery bangs tickle, and a sharp nip pricks into the thin skin of his inner thighs. The squeak that comes out of him is something he will never admit to making. Piers always delights in making him sing, and enforces an attack with harsh sucks and bites just this side of painful, marking him messily, aggressively, hickies no doubt blooming under the suction.

Rough fingertips sneak beneath the fabric over his thighs and push them up higher, revealing more skin to torture. Piers kisses over every hickey, drags his tongue in aimless paths between them, laps so high up that Raihan's cock damn near hurts from what's so close but still so fucking far. If this continues he swears he'll come in his underwear without ever getting touched. Piers could _breathe_ on his clothed dick and it'd be enough to make him come.

When Piers sits up, the black lipstick has smeared over his own cheek and chin, lips wet and shining. Constrained inside those tight leather pants, Piers' cock makes a mouthwatering impression.

Legs trembling, Raihan whimpers and pitifully rolls his hips against air. A subservient beg, a hope, a _please._ He can't name what it is he wants outside a raw, all-consuming desire for the man he loves. He wants Piers' mouth on him, wants Piers' cock inside him, wants to hold and be held, be driven to the brink and carried back by him.

_Do you have any idea what you do to me? What I'd do for you?_

He cries out when Piers sinks his teeth into the meat of his thigh, tongue laving over the spot. He presses a tender kiss over it and rises onto his knees, lifting Raihan's leg up until his calf rests over Piers' shoulder. Piers caresses over his bare leg, rubs his cheek against his calf, and gives it a rub with his mouth to smear black onto it.

"You," Piers says, eyes dark with intensity, "are my magnum opus. You and what we have together. Makin' you feel loved and cared for, that's the greatest thing I could ever achieve, nothin' else even comes close."

He's pressed so close to the edge he wants to cry. His personal soundscape is stuffed full of three things only: his own heavy breaths, a heartbeat he can't tell if he's imagining or not, and Piers' voice. That sweet voice, husky thing, Raihan's deliverance from every stress and insecurity.

He hardly notices that Piers is missing from between his legs, or that his leg was set down to begin with. He sluggishly turns his head and finds his lover at his side, a perfectly cylindrical tube in hand, lustrous ebony capped with gold on both ends, a band of it wrapped around the near-middle with a golden pair of lips, stoic and lush, presented like the top of a ring.

Piers plucks the cap off. Gold flashes. Luxury.

"Vendetta red. I only use this for special occasions."

Red scrolls up, velvety and deep like stage curtains, a red carpet, the plush ropes strung between golden posts to cordon off VIP from common masses. He didn't even know Piers owned that color.

"I think markin' you up counts as special enough to bring it out, wouldn't you say?"

Words are a bit beyond him. Good thing Piers doesn't need any for a rhetorical question; he already knows what's welcome to happen next.

Piers applies the Vendetta, motions economical yet unhurried. He's a killer in red. Femme fatale. Raihan would be a sucker if approached by a Piers wearing a shade this bold. Bit late for him, though.

A leather-wrapped leg swings over his hips and Piers lowers, body arching, nearly parallel to his as it hovers inches away, lashes dense and batting around those beautiful eyes. Before Raihan can even consider breaking protocol and pressing up to make their bodies meet, Piers thrusts their hips together. A strangled sound flees his throat and he ruts instinctively, grinding against Piers' length for the relief so sorely needed.

He's only allowed a few grinds. No, no, don't leave again! Not so soon! Raihan whimpers when that lithe body draws downward, away, every inch both a blessing of friction against his cock and a tragedy of losing proximity to his love.

Piers halts, face over his chest, and smirks with another roll of his body that rubs his narrow stomach along Raihan's covered cock. Too many clothes in the way, he wants skin on skin, to grind directly against Piers' smooth stomach and pretty chest, but the barriers between turn out to be necessary, because Piers has something important to say, right over his heart.

"Left this for last." Piers swirls a finger around a patch of skin left untouched before now. His chest was already kissed, but on the other side. "This heart of yours. Oh, Rai, the things I could say about this..."

Piers' breath is warm and ticklish. Raihan's heart hammers under the spotlight, racing in place, pumping like it wants to put on its very best performance for the one person whose eyes can reach into every corner.

"You've got so much love to give, so much passion... You made room in this boundless space for someone like me. Bitter, insecure, couldn't believe that someone so perfect and successful would pay a single whit of attention to this nobody. I underestimated how open your heart really was to me, and once I realized, like hell was I gonna take it for granted."

Piers' voice softens into quiet, almost introspective, speaking to himself just as much as he speaks to him.

"Knew early on that you weren't so unassailable as you'd like everyone to believe. You show your heart so openly on purpose, like a statement, that you've got nothin' to hide, no imperfections to be ashamed of... and now that I have a place here, within you, I'll always be here to remind ya that it's okay to have those parts you seem to hate so much. They ain't somethin' to hide with me. I love your smiles and optimistic attitude, but that don't mean it's all I wanna know of. It means so much that you can set all that aside, let me see you when you're less than your best. Sad, angry, frustrated, or tired of everythin'... Your heart's got space for the good and the bad, and I'm here to care for both."

Piers seals it with a kiss. Out of all of them, this one sears the most, and Raihan feels the burn deep inside himself as well as near the surface, behind his eyes. He's speechless for a new reason. Choked up. Throat tight. Suffocating on the magnitude of devotion pouring over him. It's just one kiss, gently and mindfully placed over his pounding heart, but the invisible weight behind it might as well be that of a thousand leagues of ocean pressing him against this bed.

He feels like he's fallen when Piers' lips leave his chest. A bright red mark stands over his skin, a torch compared to the black left all over the rest of his body.

"You doin' alright, love?"

He blinks, and something hot rolls down his cheek. Piers sits up and wipes it away with a thumb, and once it sinks in that he's actually crying, the rest of the world fills itself in. He's hot, back sticky against the sheets. Hands colder from being held above his head for so long. Still insanely hard, still wound up tight, heart drumming like thunder and his throat's all dry. He tries for a yes and his vocal cords flat-out refuse to work.

A stroke down his cheek. "Can ya nod or shake your head fer me?"

He can do that. He nods. Piers relaxes, and a gentle smile registers, soft and warm like a candle.

"There's a good dove. It's alright." Piers pets over his hair and some of the looming intensity filling his chest fades away. None of it was dread, but losing it feels similar to coming down from dread. God, Piers is so good at making him feel every which way, what was that?

"You feelin' okay? I know that was a lot."

Another nod. To both the question and the statement, he thinks.

"You're doin' great, Rai. I wanted to tip ya over, just a bit, but I didn't think it'd happen this soon. Need a moment to relax, or are you good to continue? Shake your head no for a break, nod yes to keep goin'."

A break... That does sound nice, but if he waits too long, will the mood dissipate? The look in Piers' eyes says no, and that even if it did, there'd be nothing wrong with that. He's in good hands. Not even crying anymore. The tear track down his face is tacky, tight along his skin from salt dried, not dissimilar to the lipstick covering the same cheek.

Okay. Okay... he's good. Still floaty, with things a little too sharp around the edges that he'd love to have blurred away, but it's no emergency or true discomfort while Piers is right here stroking his head. So he nods. The petting on his head switches to a pat, and Piers smiles again.

"We'll make that the peak of it. Let's get you taken care of, made ya wait long enough."

Piers backs off and reaches down. The elastic of his waistband stretches under a smooth intrusion. Rationality snaps back into him— _something's still missing_ —and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"W-Wait," he croaks.

Piers pauses. Concerned. Raihan heavily swallows. Up until this point he hasn't asked for anything beyond his needy begging, and that was denied. This feels too important to let slide without an attempt at braking for the detour.

"You... you missed a spot."

A perfect brow lifts, and Raihan licks his bare lips to fidget away from how hot his face is. Piers' expression relaxes into fond understanding, and a soft hand caresses his cheek, thumb brushing over the spot so devoid of a precious kiss.

"You're right. How could I forget? I'm sorry, love, let's fix that right up."

Piers draws back to apply a fresh coat of red and crawls right back over him.

"Thanks for catchin' my slip," whispers hot over his mouth, the quiet words clear and bright within the frame of a teasing smile. His face is soon held by two doting hands. "Almost forgot such a crucial piece of you."

Piers' lips are so close to his that he could tilt his chin and brush right against them. But he doesn't. He stays right where he is, a willing captive in Piers' thrall, trusting his partner to deliver what he's been yearning for.

"This witty mouth o' yours... I feel so loved every time you kiss me. The praise you give, the reality checks, that beautiful laugh that makes my heart sing... Your smile, your pouts, the way you press your mouth up when you're concentratin' real hard on somethin', and how you poke your tongue through your teeth when somethin' clicks..." The pad of a rough thumb brushes at the corner of his mouth, presses lightly over his lower lip. "All the different ways you say _I love you._ All of it, I love it because it's yours, and because it's you."

"I do love you," he gasps beneath the touch, barely above a whisper. "Love you so much."

The smile Piers gives him lights up the room. Gone is the smolder, that hang-by-a-thread intensity that kept him on a hook. Right now it's only unapologetic enjoyment of him. "I know you do. And I love you too, Rai. You're my world, and I've never been happier than I am when I'm with you."

Piers closes the distance and gives him a languid, messy kiss. Finally, _finally,_ this feels so right, what he needed all along, to join with his beloved and speak what words can't say, not all the way. He's always been better at showing than telling; Piers is the poet, not him.

The thick lipstick catches and drags, the textural antithesis to the slick tongue slipping inside and claiming the places the red can't reach. He wants that color smeared all over him, to be made into a mess, and there's no one better at rendering him helpless than the sweet siren sticking his tongue down his throat with playful licks and nips. His heart lightens with each hand-off of control between them, back and forth, taking turns, and when Piers breaks the kiss, they're both smiling, foreheads touched together.

"Red really is your color," Piers murmurs.

"Likewise, babe."

Their makeout smudged the Vendetta around the both of them. Piers still has traces of black on his face, smeared into the red against pale skin. Reminds him of card suits. Black, red, over a white field.

Piers chuckles and draws back, and this time it doesn't feel like a loss. His underwear is dragged down his legs and he groans in open relief once they're off.

"Fuuuckin' finally," he laughs, and spreads his legs for a special someone to settle between. "I was gonna go crazy if my poor dick got ignored any more."

"Your patience will be rewarded." Piers pops his lips after yet another fresh coat applied and sets the mirror aside. "Quite handsomely."

He won't be surprised if he doesn't last long, and can't find it in him to worry about that after everything Piers put him through. Instead, he focuses on the details and sensations he can. The brush of clingy lipstick over the head of his cock, made slicker once Piers' lips catch the precum leaking from the tip. The smear of scarlet along his shaft, a ring made as Piers swallows him down and bobs to a measured depth. The light scratch of nails against his bare hips, the pressure to keep him pinned against the mattress so Piers can have his way with him.

Raihan shudders and groans when Piers takes him to the hilt, sheathing Raihan's cock fully within his throat and topping it off with a content nuzzle and sigh, like he can exist happily so long as he's got his mouth filled up. It takes everything Raihan has not to rock his hips. The silken ties around his wrists make themselves known now more than ever. He wants to pet that pretty head, wrap his hand around Piers' ponytail and drag him up and off to see the drooling mess left behind all over those plump lips. For now, everything is Piers' pace.

A preparatory sigh blows along his skin and Piers starts sucking him off in earnest, hand wrapped around the makeup-smeared base and stroking in tandem with Piers' bobbing head. Praise falls out of his mouth unbidden, swears and curses and gasps, all in between him singing Piers' name along a litany of _I love you_ 's and _you're perfect_ 's.

He comes with a tight cry down Piers' throat, every pulse of release dutifully swallowed and enjoyed. Piers moans like he's being treated to some exotic five star dessert, _fuck_ he's such a slut, and Raihan means that in the most adoring way possible.

Piers keeps sucking until his hips are bucking to escape overstimulation. He's finally released, and Piers sits up and crawls over him, sitting up on his knees, undoing the buttons and zipper to the tight leather pants keeping his own cock restrained. Piers shoves the leather down and takes himself in hand, quickly jerking off right over Raihan's stomach.

"Ready for your last mark, love? Watch me," he pants. "Don't look away."

He wasn't planning on it. Raihan catches his breath with deep gulps, eyes glued to the sight of his lover pleasuring himself right over him. One more mark, one more show of love, and he's never been more ready to receive.

"Please, baby," he whimpers, when he isn't gasping for air anymore. His body arches and he begs. Please give it, he wants it so bad, wants to be covered in Piers' love and cum, can't wait anymore, he _needs_ it!

When Piers finally finishes, ropes of pale cum landing in hot lines over his abs, it's a release for them both. Raihan stares at the contrast over his skin. Some of the white crosses over a black kiss. Adds a nice dimension to the artwork Piers made of him.

"Ain't that a pretty picture... Still think it's missin' one final touch."

"What, there's more?" Raihan weakly chuckles and lets his head flop back against the pillows. He's fucking wrung out. Weird that so little of their time was spent actually fucking, but he still feels all... fulfilled, inside. Not just physically. Mentally, too. Emotionally. 

In lieu of an answer, the cap of a lipstick pops free. He's too worn out to jolt when something presses against his chest, but he does make a weird noise when it drags and pulls at his skin in a borderline uncomfortable way. It loops and sharply changes direction multiple times. Is Piers drawing on him?

He picks his head up and looks down.

An upside-down name in cursive, right across his chest. The scarlet mark over his heart now resides over the tail end of an _'s,'_ a little flair to the autograph.

No, not an autograph. A signature. Piers signed him, an artist's final touch to their completed work.

The cap snaps back on, the tube turned stationary set back onto the nightstand.

"There we are, all finished. You look a masterpiece, sweetheart. Mind if I get some pictures?"

That is the last thing he would mind. Raihan happily poses on the bed, lying back to look appropriately debauched as Piers circles the perimeter and clambers up to get closer angles of different parts of his kiss-covered body. He's affectionately called a camera whore, to which he responds, "second only to being a _you_ whore," which makes Piers laugh and him smile and Piers snaps another picture, just like that.

His arms are released and he stretches them out with a groan. Freedom to move around, at last. He doesn't really want to, though. He's happy to remain reclined and entice Piers to come snuggle with him after a session like that. The familiar clunk of his phone being set down is his cue to open his mouth and ready the romantic offer to _come to bed, baby._

Piers cuts him off before he gets the chance.

"Alright, time to get clean. Up with you, got a lot to wash off."

He immediately whines. "What! Why now? You said it yourself, I look great."

"That you do, but I ain't gonna cuddle you all sweaty. Come on, I'll join ya in the shower."

That's enough incentive to roll out of bed (not without a dramatic groan) and shoulder the bathroom door open, arm wrapped around his lower stomach to catch the cum wanting to slip down.

Raihan halts the moment he sees himself in the mirror, because holy shit. Piers really did turn him into a masterpiece. Midnight purple over his face and neck, stark black over his chest, stomach, arms and thighs, and scarlet seared over his heart and smeared around the base of his soft cock. The bright signature across his chest reflects backwards, elegant and bold, a real rockstar autograph.

 _Sign my tits,_ he thinks with a chuckle.

Piers shuffles into the bathroom and catches him admiring himself. Something flat and hard is pressed into his hand. His phone.

"I already took pictures, but wanna snap a few of your own 'fore we wash it all off?"

He loves this man so goddamn much.

Piers wipes away the cum from his stomach without disturbing the kiss marks too much while Raihan swipes through the photos Piers took. Good angles, he's really got an eye for artistic shots. Still can't compare to the fun of a couple's selfie. Got to capture the moment of them together!

He throws an arm around his partner and goes for some mirror shots first, then switches to the front-facing camera to better capture their expressions. Piers rarely smiles for selfies, opting instead to poke his tongue through his teeth, but this time an easy smile spreads around the ever-present stuck tongue. Raihan beams and lifts his arm. Snap snap snap!

"These are so going in my favorites collection." He lowers the phone to inspect the latest additions.

"Don't ya say that about every selfie ya take with me?"

"Yes, but! These are extra special!"

Piers chuckles and pats him on the back on his way towards the shower. "You say that about every photo too."

"Because they are." His phone clacks face down on the counter, and he sits upon the edge as Piers undresses. No shame in staring. "Every picture I take with you is extra special."

Piers peels his leather pants off, then strips his shirt with a shake of that beautiful head to help his ponytail come free of the neck hole. Raihan whistles and clicks his tongue and laughs when the shirt is chucked at his chest.

"I'm surprised ya haven't printed all those pictures off into an album yet," Piers says as he flips the water on so it can get warmed up.

"Oh, fuck, I totally should. We could fill one with post-sex selfies alone. And one just for dates! And a whole album just of the pics I take when you fall asleep against me on the couch, and—"

"I get it, you're sentimental," Piers grumbles, face pink. "Love that about you. Keep it to the date pictures, will ya? Wouldn't mind havin' that on our shelf."

He really is getting a go-ahead to turn their memories tangible. Hell fucking yes!

After freeing his mane from its high hold, Piers peeks into the shower and tests the temperature. The urge to sneak up and pinch that cute little butt is strong, but Raihan resists.

"Hey... Think you could show me how to apply lipstick, so I can give you pretty kiss marks too?"

"Sure. Happy to teach ya anythin'. Wanna know how to walk in heels while you're at it?"

"Baby, if you manage to find cute heels in _my_ size I'll gladly suffer through a strutting lesson."

"Please, I could get my hands on some anytime. I've got connections." Piers glances over his shoulder and jerks his head. "Water's warm, come on. Wanna ask about how you feel about all that, what you liked, could use more of, less of."

Was it not enough to know that he enjoyed it? Ah well, he can't deny Piers anything. If his baby wants feedback then he'll get it in thorough detail.

Raihan pushes off the counter and gives himself one last look in the mirror. All this makeup might be scrubbed off in a moment, but the marks they left on him will stay, embedded beyond surface-level. Piers has a knack for that, engraving things deep, where he can recall and relive the moment any time he needs the pick-me-up. It's less often that he needs it, since they've moved in together.

"Raihan?"

He tears his eyes off the mirror and crosses the bathroom in two easy strides, ready to join the love of his life in washing away almost all of what was wrought, leaving only the warmth of practiced love behind.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 04-JAN-2021: The incredible [Asta](https://twitter.com/Horny_Lemon7) drew [fanart straight out of this fic](https://twitter.com/Horny_Lemon7/status/1345974964579610624) and I am begging you to put your eyeballs on it because it's like she straight up lifted what was in my brain as I was writing and gave it visual form and I am going to lose my mind forever and eternally


End file.
